


It's Not A Cry That You Hear At Night

by FairyQueen (etoilecourageuse)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Torture, Muteness, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Silence, Sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 14:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4964023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/pseuds/FairyQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of the war, Andromeda is left only with darkness, and Narcissa, helpless to comfort her sister, is met only with silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not A Cry That You Hear At Night

Darkness veiled her eyes, even in the rare moments a smile would pass her lips, a smile that never truly reached her gaze, never truly reached her soul. Darkness veiled her eyes, and at times it seemed to consume her truly. Fully. 

Her home, too, was no longer recognisable, could no longer be considered her home that had once been so bright, so full of life, so full of energy. Once before, Narcissa had visited her sister, in secret and trembling with unspoken rage, only once before, so briefly after she had escaped. Only once before had she found herself within the drawing room of a small, inconspicuous house that seemed to glow from the inside, and yet she remembered. Narcissa remembered as though she had never left, remembered how beautiful it had been, and how much she had despised herself for allowing her anger to fade in the moment she saw such happiness glisten within Andy’s eyes and began to realise. She remembered… 

Hadn’t Andromeda always loved the light, the fresh air, hadn’t she always refused to close the windows even in the coldest nights of winter, hadn’t she so adored to watch the sun rise in the morning? But now… Now, the same darkness that seemed to reign within her heart occupied the house as well, now dark, heavy curtains refused to allow even the faintest gleam to infuse the rooms, now sparse candles eerily illuminated the hallways, only enough to prevent those passing through from falling. 

Narcissa could barely stand to watch as each day her sister walked through the corridors nearly silently, as though she had turned into a ghost, an empty shell of her former self, could barely hold her gaze as she looked at her for minutes at times, her sister’s eyes tear-stained and swollen, the haunted look of grief written upon her face. 

Andromeda had lost everything. Her husband, her daughter… Everything. Andromeda had lost everything as though it were a punishment for her betrayal, for turning her back on those she had once claimed to love and so selfishly leaving them behind, as though the Gods… 

No. Narcissa did not believe in Gods, not any more, could have cursed herself for her own folly. She had seen, had experienced too much to still be capable of believing, and of praying. 

Andromeda had lost everything. Andromeda Tonks had been made a victim of the war, too, had been made a victim in the most unspeakable, most cruel way and lost everything, nearly breaking down beneath the burden of her sorrow. And yet… Yet it was still there, Narcissa could tell, the fire burning within her, the fierce determination to never surrender. In a way she was still herself, still the woman Narcissa had once known as her sister, such long time ago in what felt like a former life. Her strength had never faded. 

The past years had taken their toll on them both, changed, wearied them both, had pushed them both so far beyond their limits and never granted them the chance to rest, forcing them to go on, to always go on until they nearly collapsed with exhaustion. But to go on meant to survive. 

How similar they were, still, how much they resembled each other even now, and yet for too long they had fought on different sides, forced to pretend to be oblivious of one another, to be strangers… They, too, had fought, had struggled so despairingly in their own war, far off the battlefield but yet so close to the real war raging around them, a war that was always with them, always with their families. They, too, had fought in that real war. Of course they had fought, praying so foolishly for relief where none could be given. 

How lucky Narcissa had been, to emerge from the war unharmed with her son and husband by her side, and to fall asleep that night with Lucius’ arms wrapped tightly about her body, elated by such endless relief, such sweet, sweet relief and yet heavy with exhaustion. 

But that didn’t last. She, too, could scarcely sleep without a potion, could no longer stand the darkness, she, too, was haunted by demons that at times would force her to her knees, and take her breath away. But why would it matter? Why would any of it matter if they were alive, if they were together, never to be separated again, never to face such dangers? How lucky she had been. How lucky they all had been. 

Andromeda, however, had been pushed into the abysses of hell itself. 

Weeks had passed since the final battle before Narcissa had begun to realise, before nausea had overcome her at the sudden thought of her sister, her lost sister whom after her final visit she had promised herself to forget, never to face again, to banish from her mind and heart once and for all. She had seen the girl, dead on the ground in the Great Hall, had seen her, recognised her immediately and yet not fully processed, too overwhelmed by emotion. 

How long she had hesitated. Hesitated to once more return to the house, hesitated to face her eye to eye, to… But it was her duty. It was her duty to let go of the past and to forget what had happened, to forget what her sister had done in order to reach out to her once more, to offer her comfort, to hold her when she appeared to be falling. It was her duty to be there for her, like she had been countless times when they had been girls. It was her duty. Everything… She had lost everything. 

Andromeda had not appeared surprised, had not shown a reaction, as though any emotion had been drained from her, but greeted her in silence and not spoken since, during none of her sister’s visits. It was as though to speak would cause her too much pain, as though the torture she had suffered, been forced to endure more than once during the war even long after they had taken her husband from her, had fully deprived her of her voice. The torture… It had left behind its marks not only on her soul but her body, too, marks that Andromeda had seemed to learn to cope with so quickly, and to hide from any eyes but her own and soon Narcissa’s, who was scarcely capable of hiding the terror as she began to understand. 

What they had done to her… Narcissa dared not imagine, dared not remember the times in which her own home’s dungeons had held prisoners, refused even to approach the large stone steps ever since. 

Perhaps it was true. Perhaps Andy had truly lost… 

But no. Her voice had not fully dried out, because at night she would scream, release wordless cries of agony that sounded as though they were born from the deepest grief and the deepest despair, that sounded as though they were born from the cruellest of nightmares or, perhaps, memories. It was merely her speech that had faded, but perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps the silence was capable of soothing her, of granting her brief moments of peace. 

Narcissa’s visits had been short and irregular at first, as she had not wanted to overwhelm her sister, as she had appeared so detached, so lost within a world that seemed to be her own, barely acknowledging her presence even as she looked so directly into her eyes, placing a cup of tea on the small table before Narcissa. 

Narcissa’s visits hat been short at first, but soon the concern had grown too strong, had caused her to realise that Andy could not possibly be left alone, not as long as she trembled so beyond belief that at times she lost control over her body, not as long as… How well she appeared to cope on her own, despite such obvious pain — physical, emotional — and yet how much Andy needed her. 

Andy… Her sweet sister… How much she had changed, how much they both had changed. Still, Narcissa was amazed by her beauty even in her sorrow, was amazed by her gentility towards her, amazed by her endless strength… She had once loved her, loved her so… And still she did, would be a fool to assume otherwise, had never ceased to love her, never ceased to need her, too. Never again would they leave each other behind, never again would they lose one another… Never again. She loved her so… 

Narcissa’s visits had been short at first, yet one day she had so suddenly reached out an arm for her sister, holding her so gingerly as she led her towards the door, ready to Disapparate, ready to leave this forsaken place of sorrow. Of course she noticed her sister’s reluctance and yet… Yet Andromeda did not refuse, did allow it to happen, as though her trust in Narcissa had never faded.

Trust… Still they trusted each other, blindly, despite the war, despite everything that had happened, still they trusted each other, and still… Still, Andy allowed her to guide her… It touched Narcissa, touched her so beyond belief and yet caused her to shiver at the thought of how much time she had lost, how many precious moments she had wasted, clinging to the fatuous belief of a betrayal that had never been. 

Narcissa was sure Andy could no longer stay in this house, could no longer linger within these walls… It would break her. And so Narcissa allowed her to escape once more, smothering Lucius’ unspoken protests with a single glance as they stepped through the door of her own home, together. 

Her potion remained untouched that night, out of worry for her sister, and so soon Narcissa was startled awake by the screams, screams she had never before heard, screams that seemed to cause her blood to freeze within her veins. Andy… 

Quickly, she squeezed her husband’s hand and rose, rushing out of the room and nearly stumbling, slipped into bed beside Andromeda mere seconds later, scarcely looking at her yet wrapping her arms so firmly about her body and burying her face within her hair as though her hold alone were capable of soothing her cries, her despairing agony for relief. Everything. She had lost everything, and the nights seemed to cause her to lose herself. Narcissa, too, trembled, could scarcely breathe… How dare she. How dare she have left her alone over and over again, each time after her visit, how dare she have left her alone until it had nearly been too late? How dare she… 

She realised it then. Her sister’s silence. It brought her peace, gave her strength… And yet it was a cry for help, too,... But how could she help? How could Narcissa possibly help her forget, how could she possibly do anything but give her such love, give her hold, and catch her in moments she seemed in danger of falling? The silence… It was a cry for help, so despairing, but it was her shelter, too, seemed to ease her pain, and so why shouldn’t Andromeda remain silent? Why would it matter at all, then? Peace… The silence brought her peace… 

Sleep came to claim Andromeda once more, minutes after she collapsed so wearily against Narcissa’s chest, and Narcissa would stay with her, would stay with her until the morrow, cradle her gently and stroke her brow. Only briefly would she rise, Disapparate and return shortly after with several of her sister’s belongings, potions and robes, images of her family that she would so carefully, nearly reverently place upon the bedside table before sitting down on the edge of the bed once more, watching over Andy as she stirred and moaned quietly in her sleep, as though haunted by nightmares. She suffered, suffered so, every day, every moment, had lost everything and yet would never be alone, never again. 

The silence brought her peace.


End file.
